Copyright--Although I'm Sharing Stuff With You, Please Respect That It's Mine....

Monday, June 29, 2015

Closer


Special Note before reading further:
I've pondered long and hard about sharing this, and for good reason. This is a very mature topic which is definitely provocative and not for everyone's taste....In the end, I felt I needed to share--to point out something incredibly powerful I learned from dabbling in affairs of body, heart, and soul....
I guess, in an odd way I'm sharing what happens when you don't follow what you know and feel to be true, just to see what happens...to see if the grass is greener on the other side...so it's a poem with a story and a warning. The road back to self-esteem, self-worth, and spiritual healing comes at a very dear price--while I'm forever grateful for the miracle of forgiveness and the Atonement, I honestly would never want to experience that journey again, nor would I wish it on anyone, if I could prevent it.....
This was something I wrote after going through a very experimental point of my life, when I wandered and explored and ended up pretty much bitter and disillusioned from making some pretty awful decisions. Extremely poor judgement, in retrospect.
Funny thing about youth, that. Young, beautiful, and oh, so stupid in matters of the heart....
Around this time I had again started going back to my church again, in the attempt to get back to what I somehow always knew but had foolishly abandoned anyway.
I captured this feeling about my overall disgust and bitterness with the ultimate metaphor of "safe sex," i.e., a condom...
That. Is. A. Great. Big. LIE....There's absolutely nothing safe about casual sex....
Not something I'm happy or proud of, but just the same--it's one of my many scars and its imprints left me wiser and able to grow and progress into what I'm grateful I've become....
Make no mistake, there's honestly NOTHING casual about sex--the epitome of joining--physically, and so much more....the sacred ability to create a bond, to create a life....and the misuse of it truly leads to nothing more than heartache, loneliness, and empty regret and bitterness....trust me on this one. I turned away from things I believed and held dear in the efforts to try to obtain affection, closeness, and in the end that instant gratification nearly became my own undoing.
So deeply grateful I was able to eventually get back on the path that has brought me a deeper sense of happiness, joy, and eternal companionship. And, while I recognize my opinion might be in a social minority or even greatly unpopular--it's true for me nevertheless. And I own it, along with all my decisions, the scars, the lessons, the experiences, and the wisdom it's afforded me. All of it.
As an artist, I owe it to myself to reflect and share as brutally honestly as I know how....You can take it, you can leave it, you can love it, you can hate it. It's me, just the same. Thank you for reading this, even if you read no further. For those of you who wish to read on, I also thank you....
Eliza
June 29, 2015



I hate condoms.
Rolled.  Powdery.
Plasticking inside,
Stretching wide around
the very fiber of
release.

It's all about.
Prophylactically choking.
My space, my air, my mind--
my coming heart
inhales the burning
bitter rubber offerings.
Socially.
Smoothing them down.
Pat all down
nice and easy--
like "buttah."
Just like the pillows
in the morning.
Unreal.

I've yet to feel
THE ONE THING.
Is that ME that's 
oozed into that reservoir tip?
If I let it?
Is that what I amount to
after all?
Torn.
Wrapper discarded.

Condoms kill
the urge, the rush,
the touch of
two thoughts converging--
just a thought.
Out there.
Smothered.
Sterile.
All yours.
Alone.
Hiding under the blanket
of "Responsible...."
Riiight.
To keep me in the shape
of your toy,
nice and safe-like
from feeling.

Again?!
Ugh...
Just. FAKE. It.
Scream to protect....
That's what you 
really mean
what you
really are
what you
really bare
when you 
pull it over.
Tight.

For the time being,
Taut to be friction,
taught to be clean.
Immuned. Dry
from penetrating gush
of
the sharing,
the closing of eyes
in me
to me
on me 
with me.
How long can you last
against me?

Go ahead and put it on....  

(Originally drafted 2/24/98, Rev 6/29/2015)

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Gran's Afgans (You Promised)

This was written back in 1994, the very first time I truly dealt with death of a close loved one--my gran was everything to me at the time--not only was I her and my great grandma's namesake; but she had a way of making me feel like I was the most special thing on the planet.  She had a tradition of making afghans for each of her children, their wives, then her grandchildren, and then great-grandchildren.  She had made me mine the year before.  I went to see her two weeks before she died, and we had planned on my coming up again in a couple of months so she could finally teach me how to crochet so I could begin making afghans for my very own family someday.  Sadly, that never happened.
Her death totally crushed me at the time--that was the very first time in my life that I couldn't stop crying...it wouldn't be the last, but at the time I thought it so strange and very intense....Ever since, I have had a very powerful spiritual connection with her, for which I'm profoundly grateful and which I cherish and treasure.  She makes me laugh, she makes me cry, she still makes me feel like the most special thing on the planet, only now it's from the other side of the veil....Here's to you, Velma Jane Jeffries Farley.



You promised to make my babies afghans, too,
when the time came.  But you've gone away.
I promise to raise them loving you as I do.

I cried out in anguish, begging for you
to hold out a little longer--'til my 21st birthday.
You promised to make my babies afghans, too.

I know, such a selfish, naive thing for me to do,
but I never really had a chance to say,
"I'll promise to raise them loving you as I do."

A year has passed, and I still remember you
giggling in bed, slyly wink in your way.
But. You promised to make my babies afghans, too.

You're the sweetest dearest friend I ever knew.
You made me treasure every part of life each day.
I promise to raise them loving you as I do.

It aches to say goodbye, it's true--
Hugs, kisses, stories--in our minds to stay.
You promised to make my babies afghans, too.
And I promise I'll raise them with memories of you.




Last Night

Another oldie revisited...again, from another chapter in my life....


I miss you.
I had that dream again
last night.
Whispers prickling,
tickling surrender into
the back of my neck.
So real I giggled in my sleep.

I miss you.
Warming flushes sweep
my thoughts, my face, my heart
at one wordless moment.
Trapped by the burning black
of your eyes.
So real I gasped into my pillow.

I miss you.
Searing, rhythmic velvet
tracing, teasing, tormenting
constant, gentle spirals of hot
everywhere.
So real I cuddle closer in bed to make it last.

I miss you.
Cradling me tight against you
and the low, hot roar of your bike.
Nuzzle my throat, my chest,
my hair in the salty breeze.
So real I breathe the fading warmth of the sunset.

I miss you.
Clearing the haze of memory
at morning's light.
Struggle to stay in your arms
at the beach awhile longer.
So real your smoky taste
lingers on my lips
As I lazily stretch awake.

I want that dream again.
I miss you.

Written by Eliza Jane Gomez
(1/11/96)

Friday, June 19, 2015

Exceptions

Look at me.
Really.
Look at me.
When you look at me
what do you see?
Do you see
what you want to see?
Or everything
I could be?
Everything...
except really me.

Talk to me.
Really.
Talk to me.
When you talk to me
what do you say?
"Come on over,"
or, "Go away!"
"Do you want
to come out
and play?"
Everything
except "It's okay."

Dance with me.
Really.
Dance with me.
When you dance with me
what do you do?
Do you move
how you want to move?
Or do you sway to
the beat and
the groove?
Everything...
except
you're in love.

Listen to me.
Really.
Listen to me.
When you listen to me
what do you think?
Do you listen
as well as you think?
Or do my moving lips
wake up your kink?
Everything.
Except,
I'm swollen pink.


Come with me.
Really.
Come with me.
When you come with me
how do you feel?
Do you come undone
as you start to feel?
Or manage to keep
both hands on the wheel?
Everything...
Except
what is real.


Lie to me.
Really.
Lie to me.
Tell me
what I
want to hear.
Tickle soft,
whispery lies
in my ear.
That with you I
have nothing
to fear.
Nothing...
except you're
not here.


Stay with me.
Really.
Stay with me.
When you stay with me
where will we go?
Do you stay 'cuz
you want to be with me--
I gotta know.
Or is this whole damn thing
just for show.
Anything--
except
"I don't know."